


books are just words, but they're important still

by OnyxSphinx



Series: newmann one-shots [104]
Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Domesticity, M/M, Recovery, they're happy damnit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-12-14 00:13:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21006497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnyxSphinx/pseuds/OnyxSphinx
Summary: “I missed this, you know,” Newton says, after a moment. “Just…existing together, you know? It’s…nice.”“Yes,” Hermann agrees.“I’m hungry,” Newton adds, and Hermann laughs. “What! I haven’t had proper food inages.The bastards were all abouthealthyfoods, which was, like, afucktonof veggie protein smoothies. And crossfit…ugh. I may look toned, but at whatcost?”“There’s cereal in the cupboard, and ingredients for sandwiches in the fridge,” Hermann replies, “you can help yourself.”





	books are just words, but they're important still

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me at [harrowwharks](https://harrowwharks.tumblr.com/) on tumblr

Hermann greets the guard with a nod; neither of them speak—Hermann, mostly because he’s not sure he _can_ without breaking down then and there. His grip on his cane is carefully lax; there are marks, though, from where his nails have bitten into his palm, hidden, now, by the way he holds his cane.

With a soft buzz, the door swings open.

He takes a steadying breath.

Newton sits, still, in his chair; unmoving; then, at the sound of Hermann’s footsteps, he raises his head. “Oh,” he says, “_you._” Disappointment. It’s not Newton. He doesn’t sit down in the chair across from the other.

Hermann closes his eyes for a moment; combatting the tears that threaten. “Newton,” he greets, ignoring the disbelieving sneer that curls at the other’s lips. “Have they been treating you well?”

“We’re going to kill you all,” say the Precursors; conversationally. Hermann ignores it.

“I hope the blankets are thick enough,” he says, “I know you get cold at night. And…” he hesitates; feeling, suddenly, ridiculous. “I brought a book—”

“_Stop it!_” they shout, “why won’t you _react?_ He’s _gone,_ you idiot! It’s just _us_ in here—you’re _never getting him back!_” The restraints tighten as they lean forward, straining, lips bared to reveal teeth, and Hermann winces; the metal’s biting into Newton’s skin.

“Doctor Gottlieb?” The intercom crackles. “Do you want to get out of there?”

Hermann doesn’t take his eyes off the other’s figure. “No, it’s quite alright,” he reassures.

“Okay, then.” The voice is dubious; Hermann wishes it weren’t; what harm can come to him when they’ve restrained the other like a common animal?

He pinches the bridge of his nose; pulls out a thin book. “I found your copy of _Charlie and the Great Glass Elevator,_” he says, and for a moment—

There’s a pause; something sparks in the other’s eyes before dimming. “Oh, a _book,_” they sneer. “How _quaint._”

Hermann sits down in the chair; finally; opens the cover of the book. “The last time we saw Charlie,” Hermann begins, “he was riding high above—”

“_Shut up!_” the Precursors cut in, “shut up, shut up, _shut up!_ What the _hell_ do you think you’re doing? You—” the snarl creeps into the tone; scorn, lips canted into a sneer. “You’re just a fucking _insect._ We’re going to crush you, and your world, and—”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Hermann interrupts, closing the book and setting it in his lap. “I’m going to sit here, for the allotted time, and I’m going to keep Newton company—wherever you are in there.”

“_He’s dead!_” they scream, “he’s _dead,_ Gottlieb, and _we’ve killed him just like we’re going to kill you!_”

“I’ve been told I’m too stubborn to die,” Hermann says, drily. “As a matter of fact, Newton, I believe _you_ were the one—”

“_He’s not there!_”

“—who said that,” Hermann continues, calmly. “I was rather insulted, I think, at the time; now, though…I find it just as humorous as you did.”

The Precursors spend the entirety of the visit raging—at him, at Newton; at humanity. Hermann ignores it all, speaking softly; steadily. When his time’s up, he rises. “I’ll ask them to allow you audio-books,” he promises. “You can finally finish all of the ones you never got around to, hmm?”

“_Fuck you,_” the Precursors spit.

* * *

Finally, it’s over.

Newton is back.

The Precursors’ control, waning without repeated Drifts to reinforce it, held on for far, far longer that anyone had thought it would—long enough that some in the PPDC had begun to suggest—well.

Suggestions that Hermann was _less-than enthused_ about.

Regardless, though; now, Newton sits in the armchair in Hermann’s flat. He’d moved out of the PPDC-issued accommodations less than a year ago, but already, it feels more homely, more welcoming, than those ever did.

It has to do in part, Hermann suspects, with the fact that, given the increased wall-space, he finally has a place to put all of Newton’s art and posters—items that the other left behind when he left for Shao, but which Hermann has kept, all these years.

Now, Newton lays on the brown armchair; clad in a too-large hoodie and a pair of sweatpants—Hermann’s, the legs too long on him—, Hermann wonders at his life.

“I missed this, you know,” Newton says, after a moment. “Just…existing together, you know? It’s…nice.”

“Yes,” Hermann agrees.

“I’m hungry,” Newton adds, and Hermann laughs. “What! I haven’t had proper food in _ages._ The bastards were all about _healthy_ foods, which was, like, a _fuckton_ of veggie protein smoothies. And crossfit…ugh. I may look toned, but at what _cost?_”

“There’s cereal in the cupboard, and ingredients for sandwiches in the fridge,” Hermann replies, “you can help yourself.”

Newton hums; low and slow, and for a moment, Hermann’s back ten years before; sitting in a normally frantic lab together, side-by-side on the futon; taking a break for a moment between all the chaos; calm.

He shakes his head.

Newton rises and disappears into the kitchen; the sound of porcelain on granite reaches Hermann, and then the tap turns on; the whistle of boiling water. Newton must be making himself coffee; the Precursors haven’t taken his love for that. Hermann smiles to himself a bit at that.

After a bit longer, Newton reappears, a tray in hand; a bowl and two cups. “I made you tea,” he says, offering the cup, “black, no sugar. Hope it turned out okay.”

“It's—” Hermann pauses; letting the cup warm his hands. “That you,” he says instead. _You remembered,_ he doesn’t say.

Newton gives a half-smile; sits by his side, dips his fingers into the bowl, and laughs slightly when Hermann makes a face. “Cheerios,” he says, “I can’t believe you have them, by the way.”

“Force of habit,” Hermann returns. _I know you like them,_ he doesn’t add.

“Mm,” Newton hums. Offers Hermann the bowl. “Want some?”

“I—oh, alright,” Hermann sighs, and takes a few. “They taste like cardboard,” he complains. “I have _no_ idea why you like them.”

“Acquired taste,” Newton replies with a shrug, and leans into Hermann’s side a bit.

Hermann’s lips quirk. The sunlight streams through the half-open blinds and onto the tea-table, illuminating the book sitting there.

Newton catches sight of the book. “Charlie and the Great Glass Elevator?” He asks, incredulous. “Dude, I didn’t know you kept my copy! I was wondering where that got to…”

Hermann’s cheeks heat. “Sentiment makes fools of us all,” he says, and then, more slowly, “would you like it back?”

“No! No, no,” Newton shakes his head. “It’s yours, man. Gift from me to you, yeah?”

“…alright,” Hermann says; grudging. “Would…would you like me to read it to you?”

The question surprises even him; tumbling out, unintentionally, it gives them both pause; then, after a moment, a smile blooms on Newton’s features. “Yeah,” he says, “yeah, I’d like that.”

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me at [harrowwharks](https://harrowwharks.tumblr.com/) on tumblr


End file.
